


Echoes of your voice

by A_Million_Regrets



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mentions of alcoholism, Tragedy, Very heavy angst like i'm not even kidding, i'm so sad why did i write this, please proceed with extreme caution, sensitive topics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:01:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25573261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Million_Regrets/pseuds/A_Million_Regrets
Summary: Phil's raspy, drunken voice keeps ringing loudly in Dan's ears like a broken radio. He can't forget it, but he can't remember either. He just wants Phil to come back, but he never does.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Echoes of your voice

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. This fic deals with sensitive topics which I chose NOT to tag (because spoilers) If you're easily triggered, maybe this fic is not for you and that's ok :)

_“Leave me alone, Dan. I don't want to see your face right now.”_

Dan jerked awake uneasily from a paralyzing nightmare with a sudden jolt and a name on his lips. He panted fearfully, and his heart was pounding violently against his ribs, his pulse throbbing in his ears. The ominous chill crept deep down to his bones, and for a few disorienting seconds, he was cold, alone, naked, stripped of all emotions and senses, all sadness and grief. He was blind, deaf, empty and unable to comprehend where he was or who he was. Everything was jumbled and messed up like a squashed egg, and his brain was still stuck inside the dream world. Absolutely nothing made sense, and it was _dark dark dark_ all around him and inside him.

_“Leave me alone, Dan. I need space. Let me breathe.”_

The echoes of Phil's deep, drunken voice rang in his ears, and he felt like he had stopped breathing, like he was submerged at the bottom of the ocean, alone and in the dark, his screams mere bubbles on the surface. His body was frozen cold, and his T-shirt drenched in nervous sweat. The sheets were uneven and twirled around his hips, indicating he had been twisting and turning unknowingly in his sleep, trying desperately to escape. The room was pitch black and freezing, a pricking chill in the air that made his fingertips numb. It lasted for a full minute, and then, slowly, the gigantic waves of his memories and reality swept over him.

His dull eyes were wide and his vision was turning. His heart thumped like the strikes of a drumstick, thudding against his ribcage as if it wanted to rip open his chest. He wheezed helplessly and gasped for air. He could feel his trachea squeeze and close, suffocating him, shrivelling his lungs and blocking the air. His nostrils flared, and his trembling fingers twisted around the blue linen sheets of his bed.

_“Let me breathe, Dan. I need space.”_

The motionless, vivid images of his terrifying nightmare played over and over in his mind, one by one, like a slideshow. He panted with a clogged throat and let out a broken, breathless sob. His hand grasped his chest in pain and tears sprang from his eyes, freely dripping down his cheeks. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and tried to inhale, letting out desperate hiccups. An overwhelming amount of grief burned through his stomach, and he couldn't tolerate the terrible taste of sorrow in his mouth.

_Overturned chair in a dark room._

_“Leave me alone, Dan.”_

_The smell of cigarette smoke in the air_ _._

_“I need space. Don't you get it?”_

_A hint of alcohol on his breath_ _. . ._

_“Let me breathe.”_

“S-stop . . .” Dan pressed his hands against his ears and panted heavily, shaking his head to get rid of the loud echoes of his nightmare. “Stop thinking . . . stop thinking . . . stop thinking . . . ”

_The musky scent of dirty laundry._

_Spilt coffee on the floor._

_Cigarette butts in the ashtray._

Dan heaved and in a moment of hazy panic, his body twisted around, his hasty gaze searching for Phil's warm, comforting body next to him. His hands shook and his heart clenched when he remembered.

“ _Get the fuck out!_ _Leave me_ _alone, Dan_ _._ ”

Dan sniffed helplessly, and his eyes fell on Phil's discarded jacket on the floor. He leaned forward hastily and picked it up, hugging it tightly to his chest. It smelled like Phil, a calming, familiar scent that slowly soothed Dan's agitated nerves. Minutes slipped by, and he sniffled and breathed deeply, holding it tightly against his chest as he curled into a ball on the bed. He pressed it to his face and sobbed into it quietly, his whole body shaking in desperation. “I . . . miss you . . .” he hiccuped and sniffed, “I miss you, Phil . . .”

“Dan?”

Dan stilled and sniffed, lifting his head to peer at the open door. Dim, yellow light poured into the room from the hallway, illuminating Louise's silhouette from behind. She was standing on the entrance in her nightgown, her arms folded across her chest and her long golden hair pulled back into a hasty bun. She looked worn out and drowsy with sleep. Her usually kind green eyes were dull and devoid of light, her shoulders stiff. “Are you alright?” she murmured in a concerned tone and headed towards him, the quiet thuds of her footsteps echoing in the silence of the room. She switched on the lights, and the wrinkles between her brows and the dark circles under her eyes became more prominent. “What's wrong?”

The bright light assaulted Dan's eyes ruthlessly, and he blinked repeatedly, wiping the tear tracks furiously off his face with shaking, bony hands. His pupils contracted and his vision slowly cleared. The spacious room and organized bookshelves came into focus, but the comfort of clarity Dan was hoping for didn't appear. He sniffed helplessly, and his lips quivered. He wanted to cry and wail and throw a tantrum like a child, but his body didn't have the strength or energy to follow his thoughts. “I miss Phil,” he whispered in a meek, pathetic voice, his voice cracking, his heart sinking. “I want to see him . . .”

_“I love you, Dan . . . but I . . . I just feel empty. I feel numb. I want to be alone, Dan. Why don't you get it?”_

Phil's tired, drowsy voice was in his head again, and Dan's eyes filled with unshed tears. His vision blurred, his chest ached, and his fingers twisted around Phil's jacket, inhaling the stale, lingering odour of cigarette into his lungs. “I miss him . . .” Dan wept quietly. He couldn't stop replaying and rewinding old, boring conversations and spiteful disagreements between them. He couldn't stop waiting and hoping for Phil to come back.

Louise's dreary gaze softened, and she wordlessly sat down beside him, looking at him with pity in her dark green eyes. Dan's chest squeezed in pain, and he flinched when Louise took his fragile hand into hers. “I'm sorry, Dan,” she mumbled in a soft voice, “You can't.”

“Is he still mad at me?” Dan sniffled and pulled his hand back, hugging Phil's jacket tightly to his chest. He knew their relationship had been far from perfect, but he loved Phil with every inch of his body. “Is that why? Does he hate me? Why doesn't he miss me?”

Louise bit her red lips, giving Dan a sad, disappointed look. She stared at him in sorrow for several minutes and turned away with glossy eyes. “Of course not.” She didn't meet Dan's eyes, and he sniffed desperately, a sob rising from his chest and threatening to leave his lips. “He's just . . . he's just not here right now.” Louise intertwined her pale hands on her lap, staring at the floor. “You should go to sleep, okay?”

“I miss him,” Dan whispered brokenly, wiping his eyes with a quiet sniffle. “I can't sleep without him.”

“I know,” Louise whispered softly, “I'll call him, okay? I'll tell him to come. Is that alright?”

Dan nodded. “Okay.”

“For now, you should go to sleep. Can you do that?” Louise requested in a delicate voice.

Dan's hands loosened around Phil's jacket, and he stared at Louise with hopeful eyes. “I can see him in the morning?”

Louise turned away and bit her lip, nodding quietly. “Yeah.”

Dan nodded and lay back, clutching Phil's jacket tightly again. “Okay. I'll go to sleep.”

Louise smiled kindly, but it didn't reach her eyes. She stood up gracefully and turned away. “Good night, Dan.”

~*~

The bedroom door loomed in front of Dan like an insurmountable barricade, an obstacle, something that was standing between him and his memories. His brown eyes were dull and distant, unfocused and somewhere far away. His mind was not there, not present in the moment. He felt like he was floating, barely existing and breathing. His hands clutched Phil's jacket, his grip tight as he stared emptily at the closed door. His mind was encased in an unrecognisable fog, and he was feeling hazy, like he was stuck in a dream. A nightmare.

Phil's voice whispered in his mind, almost as if he were standing right next to him, holding him. Moments of awkward silences and past conversations flowed into his brain, suffocating him, making it hard to breathe. His nails dug into his palm so hard that he could feel his skin tearing apart. Pain. Pain was all that was left.

_“I love you, Dan . . .”_

_“I want to be alone.”_

_“I want space. Why don't you get it?”_

_“I'm not drunk, Dan! Fuck you.”_

_“I'm not an alcoholic. Shut the fuck up.”_

_“Leave me alone . . . please . . . please, Dan . . . Leave me alone . . . let me breathe . . .”_

Dan bit his lip roughly and felt the metallic taste of blood on his tongue. Tears filled his eyes inevitably, and he melted to the floor automatically, sitting on the floor and staring blankly at the door with a numb ache occupying his chest. He wasn't ready to face it yet, his harsh reality. He hadn't stepped foot inside their bedroom since that regret-filled night. Not even once. In the end, everything came back to that cursed night, every single thing he did, every step he took, led him back to that night. His meagre life itself was beginning to revolve around the bedroom and that night.

_“I want to be alone.”_

_“Why don't you get it?”_

_“I love you so much, Dan.”_

Every day, when the sun slipped below the horizon and loneliness and regrets crept in, Dan would stand in front of the bedroom door and stare, waiting, hoping, wishing. He would hug Phil's jacket tightly to his chest and watch quietly until the numb silence and hollow ache in his heart became too much to bear. He would look at the door every day for such a long time that he had memorized the shape of it, the jambs and hinges, every crack and crevice, every mark and stain. He remembered all of it. He had formed a perfect picture of it inside his mind.

“Dan?” Louise's voice flowed into his ear, but he didn't have enough life left in him to care anymore. His empty eyes and blank, expressionless face remained fixed on the door in silence. “You're here,” she whispered softly, and Dan felt her gentle presence next to him like warm sunshine. “Again.”

Dan stayed silent, and he felt nothing but a numbness that erupted from his very core and draped around him painfully. He didn't _feel_ anything. Grief, sorrow, sadness . . . _nothing._ He was empty, like a parched well.

“Dan.” Louise crouched beside him, placing a tender hand on his shoulder. Dan didn't feel it. He had lost the ability to feel someone's touch. “Dan, hey.”

Dan turned to her with a blink, holding Phil's jacket close to his chest. Louise's gaze was kind but filled with despair as she gave him a sad smile. “I ordered pizza,” she told him cautiously in a gentle voice. “Do you want some?”

Dan turned back to the door quietly, unable to express what he wanted. He could see the worry and eagerness in Louise's eyes, and a part of him didn't want to burden her, but he just didn't know how to react or what to say. He didn't want pizza. He didn't want food. He didn't want _anything._ His emotions were all over the place, and his heart was hollow. He was frustrated to his core. Frustrated, angry, _lost . . ._ but he didn't have the strength to express it anymore. All he could do was sit and stare like an idiot, like a pathetic little fool who had lost everything.

A tense minute went by, and Louise pressed, “You didn't eat breakfast.” Her face was full of undeniable concern. “You're hungry, right? You should–”

“I . . .” Dan lifted his pale hand shakily and placed it against the door. “I'm waiting for Phil . . .” He turned back to Louise vacantly. “When will he come to see me? I miss him.”

Louise stared at him for a few seconds and swallowed painfully. “I texted him,” she relayed in a quiet voice, “He said he'll come when he has time.”

Dan nodded wordlessly, going back to staring at the door in silence. Louise fidgeted nervously next to him. “Dan . . .” she murmured worriedly.

“I'll wait here for him,” Dan answered in a quiet voice, holding the jacket closer. “I'll wait.”

Louise stared at him sorrowfully for a long time, and Dan saw the tears fill her eyes. She discreetly wiped it away and sniffed. “Okay,” she whispered in a barely audible, frustrated voice. “I'll leave you alone.”

~*~

Dan sat there, in front of the cursed door, all day, until the daylight in the narrow hallway dimmed and took on an orange tint, turning into obscure darkness. He sat there on the floor, staring lifelessly at nothing in particular, his fingers twined tightly around Phil's jacket. He wasn't sure what time it was, or what he was doing, and he couldn't bring himself to even care. It was almost as if he wasn't aware of the concept of time. Time didn't truly exist for him. Day, night and afternoon were all the same, all just endless, limitless, stretch of nothingness. There was no point to anything anymore, and his flesh was slowly rotting, his mind slowly slipping deeper into emptiness. Soon, he might vanish altogether. 

_“I don't feel like talking, Dan. I want to be alone.”_

There was nothing but a numbing silence around him, but every once in a while, he would hear sounds. Distant sounds, like hazy dreams of a past life. Sounds of their boring conversations and shared laughter. Sounds of Phil's melodic humming and clattering noises of cutlery as he prepared dinner. Quiet noise of the television as Phil snored on the sofa. The running sound of water as he took a shower. Their home was rarely silent. There was always some kind of noise. Their footsteps, bickering, singing, laughter, moaning, shouting, crying . . . something always filled the air with noise. Without Phil, Dan's life was just . . . _silent._

_“Why don't you get it? Leave me alone!”_

A small drop of tear slipped down Dan's cheek, but he made no sound or expression. His facial muscles were tired; his voice was already broken. He could smell something in the air. He always smelt something in the air. It haunted him, surrounded him. The stench. The air always smelled like Phil's cologne and the ever-present smell of alcohol on his breath. There was no other scent in Dan's nose these days. 

“Dan.” Louise was near him. Again. He wondered numbly what was keeping her next to him. What was it that stopped her from abandoning him like everyone else? 

Friendship?

Loyalty?

Sympathy?

Pity? Probably.

“Dan.” Her voice cracked, and he could hear the grief lying under her barely controlled tone. 

He wanted to turn his head and acknowledge her presence, but he couldn't. His body felt stiff and not his own. He felt like he was an outside observer, peering into his boring life from somewhere else. He wanted to move. He wanted to talk, but was there any point to it at all? He felt like he wouldn't move or protest even if someone pointed a gun to his head. In the end, none of it mattered. Everything would end one day—the sooner the better.

“Is that–” There was hesitancy in her voice. “Is that Phil's jacket?” Her eyes dropped to Dan's chest, and he could tell she was trying to talk to him. He wondered why she even bothered anymore. “Do you want me to wash it?” She reached forward to grab it, and Dan's heart plummeted instantly, his eyes widening in fear. He leapt back in shock. “No!” he yelled loudly, fingers clenching around the fabric as he held it against him protectively. The numbness in his bones lifted just for a second and filled him with blind panic and an overwhelming urge to cry. His breaths quickened, and he wheezed helplessly. “No. No. No . . .”

Louise bit her lip, looking slightly irritated with Dan's behaviour. She stared at Dan like he was a small, wounded animal for several minutes. “How long do you plan to act like this, Dan?” she whispered in a despaired voice. “It–it's been a year.”

Silence rang in Dan's ears, loud and throbbing. He turned to look at Louise, his view blurry and covered in a numb haze of unwanted thoughts. “A year?” Even his voice sounded muffled and quiet, empty of emotion, almost . . . distant, like he was speaking underwater. “A year of what?” He only had one thing in his mind. One important thing. “I want to see Phil.” His hands squeezed Phil's jacket. “I miss him.”

Louise clamped a hand over her mouth, and her eyes were wet, filling up with tears rapidly. Her green eyes were devoid of emotion, and her hair was messy, tangled, like she had forgotten how to take care of herself. She looked at Dan like he was an embodiment of tragedy and sniffed in frustration. “Stop pretending, Dan!” she snapped at him tearfully. “Please . . . we're all hurting. Our friends . . . Phil's family . . . everyone is hurting! Stop doing this, Dan!” She sounded upset, upset and bitter. Her quiet, muffled sniffles made Dan's heart throb with pain, making him dizzy.

“Where's Phil?” he murmured in a barely audible, emotionless voice. It sounded robotic, stiff without any feeling behind it. Just a hollow voice that echoed for no reason. “I want to see him.”

Louise flinched, badly, letting out a broken sob, muffled by her pale hand on her mouth. She looked at Dan pitifully, her voice full of resentment and pain. “Stop it, Dan!” she cried with a sniffle, “Why are you doing this? Why? I–I can't see you like this, Dan. It hurts.”

Dan stared at her in confusion, his mind in a trance, shrouded in a puzzling mist. He frowned doubtfully, his bony fingers loosening around Phil's jacket. “What do you mean?” he asked in genuine perplexity. “Where's Phil?”

“Phil is . . .” Louise's voice cracked again, and she covered her face with her hand, crouching on the floor and sobbing quietly. “Phil's gone, Dan!” she wailed in a pain-filled, breaking voice. “He's dead! Why don't you get it? Why can't you accept it? Please. Please, stop doing this. He's never coming back!”

Dan stilled completely, stiffening up like a hard rock. He stared at Louise in shock, his eyes widening, his breaths quickening, the thuds of his heart getting louder and louder in his ears. He breathed, panted and gasped for air, his mouth opening wide in an attempt to take in oxygen that didn't feel enough. “What?” he panted heavily, his fingers twisting around Phil's jacket so hard that it was hurting his palm. “No . . . No, don't say that. That's not–that's not true. That's not true!”

“I'm sorry, Dan,” Louise hiccuped and collapsed to the floor in tears. “I'm so sorry.”

“You . . . you're lying!” Dan panted and wheezed, fighting for air. No matter how much he tried to fill his lungs with air, he couldn't. The narrowness of the hallway was increasing, becoming smaller and smaller with every excruciating second. His gaze was unfocused, panicking, jumping from one thing to another. He clutched his chest tightly and heaved helplessly, placing his palm on the bedroom door. “Phil is . . . he's in our bedroom. He–he's here, isn't he? He's in our–” His trembling hand grasped the doorknob tightly, his lips quivering as he stared at it with wide, shocked eyes. “He's sleeping, right? He is here. He's inside. He–”

Dan pulled the door open with shaking hands, and the familiar, musky smell of their bedroom immediately shot up his nostrils. Dan stilled on the doorstep as if his feet were suddenly nailed to the floor. His entire body tensed and froze like ice, paralyzed and unable to move. The room was empty, with nothing but furniture inside. Phil was nowhere to be found, but Dan saw him. Dan saw Phil in the room in the exact same position, exact same place, he had found Phil that night.

Memories flowed and rushed into his mind like a deadly flood, and he saw it play out in front of him like it was happening in the present. Dan saw the room in the state it had been that night. Broken window and scattered books on the floor from their fight earlier that day, spilt coffee on the floor, dirty laundry in the chair, bottles of whiskey littered on the floor, cigarette butts on the bedsheets and the heady smell of smoke in the air. He remembered Phil stumbling into their bedroom late at night, smelling of alcohol and vomit, with uncombed hair and tear tracks on his pale cheeks. He heard their loud, violent argument in the background of his thoughts. He heard his own arrogant complaints, and Phil's refusal to admit that he was slowly turning into an alcoholic.

Phil's words and actions, his empty blue eyes and alcohol-induced imbalance, his every single glance and huff that night was extremely vivid in Dan's mind all of a sudden. He recalled Phil's drunk mumble about wanting to die, his own hasty, angry remarks, every bad word he had thrown at Phil. More than anything, he remembered Phil's hunched back as he dismissed Dan's concerns with an absent wave of his hand. He remembered being angry, yelling, shouting, screaming and hurling insults and accusations at Phil. He had blurted out things he knew he would regret and said words he shouldn't have. He had poked and laughed at Phil's wounds, selfishly believing that he was doing the right thing.

Phil had slammed the door shut in his face, and Dan had kicked and banged at the door, shouting at him without knowing about what Phil was going through. He hadn't slept all night after that, waiting and waiting and waiting for Phil to open the door and let him in. He hadn't thought of the consequences. It was a normal fight, just a little more hurtful than usual. It was supposed to end with apologies, not death. He had hoped they would reconcile in the morning with kisses and warm hugs. He had wanted to apologize once Phil opened the door.

Phil never opened the door.

Dan had sat in front of the door and begged and pleaded in the early hours of the morning. He had talked and talked and desperately asked him to open the door. He had apologized over and over again, but Phil _never_ opened the door.

When Dan had finally managed to kick the door open, all he had seen was an overturned chair and a rope. The smell of smoke had been high in the air, and the darkness had made it hard to see. All he had felt was a sense of shock, a feeling that it had to be a nightmare, right? He was dreaming, right? It wasn't real, was it? _It couldn't be. It just couldn't be._ The nasty smell of cigarettes and dirty laundry from days ago had been overpowering, and he had vomited violently on the floor, over and over again, heaving, panting, his lungs burning like it was on fire. Screams had gotten stuck in his throat. Tears had refused to flow, and all he had felt was a deep, aching, numbing sense of sadness. A sadness so strong and crushing and filled with regrets that he had felt like his entire existence was about to disappear without a trace.

It was a kind of pain he had never felt before, ever. It had felt like his innards were being pulled out from his body, like his body was being sliced and crushed into pieces. His thoughts had been all over the place, and he couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that he would never see Phil again. He couldn't believe he would never see him laugh or hum a tune or tease and joke around with him. Phil would never smile at him. He could no longer share his precious moments and stories and accomplishments with Phil, and he couldn't accept it. He _couldn't._

“Dan . . .” Louise's sad voice cut through his thoughts like a sharp knife.

Dan snapped out of his thoughts with a panting gasp, his eyes wide as he looked away from the ceiling and back at Louise. She was standing behind him, her hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. Dan blinked repeatedly and noticed the tears dripping down his face in silence. His entire body was shaking violently, but his thoughts instantly vanished into thin air. His mind went blank. His eyes returned to empty. His heart was numb. He touched his face with a trembling hand. “What . . .” he stared at Louise's tear-streaked face. “What am I doing?” Louise's expression became crumpled, and she looked like she was holding back her sobs. “Where's Phil? I want to see him . . .”

Louise sniffed and blew her nose into her handkerchief, holding on to his arm gently. “Phil's n-not here r-right now, okay?” she murmured in a broken voice. “Let's go back to your room.”

Dan nodded, and Louise silently guided him out of the room. “Where's Phil?” he repeated in child-like confusion, “I want to see him.”

“I'll call him, and let him know, okay?” Louise whispered in a soft, soothing voice. “He'll come to see you when he has time.”

Dan nodded emptily. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi :) I hope this fic devastated you :) I hope you feel crushed :) I don't know why I'm doing this to myself :) help :)


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